


Pillowfort Starker Drabbles

by feyrelay



Category: Iron Man (Movies), Marvel Cinematic Universe, Spider-Man: Homecoming (2017), The Avengers (Marvel Movies)
Genre: Age Difference, Don't copy to another site, Drabble Collection, M/M, Moodboards, See Chapters for Tags, Уточнять у автора
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2019-04-09
Updated: 2019-04-20
Packaged: 2020-01-07 12:20:32
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 3
Words: 2,550
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/18410528
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/feyrelay/pseuds/feyrelay
Summary: Nearly all drabbles will come with moodboards. CNTW = could contain anything; we'll see.***I have never, will never, allow any reposting or translations of my works without my permission. All of my works will and shall only be hosted on my personal accounts on AO3 (feyrelay), Pillowfort (feyrelay).I no longer have a Tumblr.I do not have a Twitter account.I do not have a Wattpad account.Please Do Not Repost My Fics ANYWHERE, including but not limited to Goodreads, Ficbook.net, or Fanfics.me; Please do not repost my image-based work to ANY site, including but not limited to Pixiv, Imgur, Tumblr, or Pinterest. If your stock photo or free aesthetic image was used in a moodboard and you don't like that, please contact me at feyrelayfiction@gmail.com and I will remove it. If you would like to translate a work of mine or host a translation you may contact me to ask about that at the same email. Уточнять у автора.





	1. Teacher-Student Starker

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> For tangodoodles on her birthday!

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Contains teacher-student, and mentions of bullying.

Listen. Senior year was about fucking off and not worrying about anything. And, Peter loves Cate Blanchett, has seen  _Notes on a Scandal_  like twelve times, and he knows how this ends.

But Mr. Stark hadn't excluded him like the other teachers, just because he was a non-Catholic in a Catholic school, an over-18 interloper there to finish up his last little bit of education after Flash made it impossible to continue attending his regular school.

And Mr. Stark taught coding and film studies, the two coolest fucking classes this little tiny institution could muster.

And, and, and.

And when the football team got too drunk on St. Patrick's day and tied Peter to the field goal in one of their girlfriends' plaid skirts and meant to leave him there over spring break to die of exposure, Mr. Stark had found him, had been there to water his plants and change out some of the posters in his room and, and, and.

That was two months ago, and it was almost graduation, and they'd never so much as kissed, but he thought about it all the time.

He thought about Mr. Stark's thumb in between his teeth, hinging his mouth open for a hot, breathy press of the lips.

He thought about that same thumb pressing into him from behind, testing the wet edge of him before, before, before.

Jesus, Mary, and Joseph.

He knows how this ends.


	2. Suck It, Flash

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Contains ambiguous age for Peter (but he's in high school still, so 17 probably) and some bullying from Flash.

The Audi pulls up outside Midtown.

It’s a cliché, but Peter notices the car (like everyone else) and how it is dark and powerful and sleek and mature and steeped in handsome luxury.

(Just like its owner.)

Peter should have known this would happen when he mentioned, off-hand, to Mr. Stark that quite a few of his classmates didn’t believe that Peter had a real internship, thanks to Flash.

Things he brings to Mr. Stark’s attention have a way of… being fixed.

(Well, he is an engineer, Peter reasons. Excuses.)

Peter immediately heads toward the car, not keen to keep Mr. Stark waiting if this is important business (a “retreat”, a mission?) and not related to his problems at all. In the moment between Mr. Stark getting out of the vehicle and him greeting Peter, Flash inserts himself.

“Nah, c’mon, don’t bother the billionaire! That’s just pathetic, Penis Parker!”

As Mr. Stark’s hand makes contact with Peter’s shoulder in one of those friendly claps he’s always giving (the kind that settle in Peter’s brain and gut like the last note of a song), his eyebrows quirk. “He doesn’t really call you that, does he?”

Peter hesitates before he nods, because surely now Flash will back off, seeing that he and Mr. Stark clearly know each other. It’s not worth getting the man involved if Flash is gonna stop any minute.

Unfortunately, Flash must have missed Peter and Tony’s brief interaction, must have turned around or looked away to gauge his cronies’ reactions to his initial taunt, because he starts up again, “Pe-nis, Pe-nis, Pe-nis, Peeeeeee-nis Parker, everyone! Hey, Iron Man, let him down gently why don’t ya? He’s pathetic enough as it is!”

And then something wonderful happens. 

Tony dons his sunglasses in a modelesque moment and strides toward Flash. His voice is at its most charming. “Trash Thompson, was it? Just the boy I came here to see! Peter told me so much about you over our little dinner in the lab last night.”

“He did? Oh, uh… ”

“Yes, he had nothing but compliments. I was led to believe that you're what passes for his academic competition around these parts, and I just wanted to say…,” Tony grandstands, putting his hands on Flash’s shoulders in a way that looks congratulatory, but also a bit like a cat stretching its paws over something too small to be worth eating, before adding, “... that I think it's so great how accepting the younger generation has become.”

Flash sputters, “Uhm, yes sir, accepting, uh… ”

Tony steps back cleanly away from Flash, hands coming off his shoulders in a way that suggests he was brushing lint off him, but looked hard enough to nearly make Flash’s knees buckle. “Of course!” Tony exclaims, faking confusion at Flash’s questioning tone. “Only in this day and age would I come to pick up my intern and see a classmate of his being allowed his fundamental right to shout about penises at the top of his lungs, at 3:30pm on a Monday. No one should ever keep you down, keep you from yelling about what you truly love. But now, oh, you can be out and proud, Trash Thompson, and not ashamed of your crush on Peter. Good for you. I just know Peter would never dare bully you for it, either, even if he doesn't return your feelings; he knows how I despise bullies of all kinds.”

Poor Flash. Peter feels a little bad for him, until the other boy feels the need to speak up, yet again. “It's Flash, actually, Mr. Tony Stark, sir. And I don't have a... I mean, I'm not-”

Tony snaps his fingers like it was a genuine mistake and he's just now remembering. “Right! Flash Thompson. Like ‘flash in the pan’. Something born to brief success, before burning out entirely. Got it.”

Peter has to shield his eyes from the flare of that sick burn. Holy shit. 

When he looks back up, Mr. Stark is walking away from Flash and back towards Peter. He tosses Peter his keys and says the most surreal thing yet. “You wanna drive, Pete?”

It's a lot. It's too much. He barely passed his driver's test, which he took using one of Mr. Stark's less-loved cars, and hasn't gotten much practice in since then since he swings everywhere and May can't afford parking, much less a car, on her salary. 

“Oh, uhm… I guess I could-”

Mr. Stark reaches him and takes the fist holding the keys to the Audi in his own, soft-for-a-mechanic hands. He gently uncurls Peter's fingers from around them, taking them back. 

“Or I could take care of it. Don't worry. I like to… I love taking care of things for you. Let's go,” the older man says, soft and low. 

Peter nods and Tony opens the passenger door for him. It gives Peter a little, old-fashioned thrill, like this is a date. 

He's only more gratified when Tony hams for the on-looking students, voice a touch louder than necessary. “No, you're right, Pete. I'll drive so you can go over the schematics during the ride. I need your help with improving the efficiency.”

The praise, even secondhand and implied, is enough to make him warm all over. He rolls down the window as Tony settles into the driver's seat. He smiles at Flash, still feeling a little guilty about how Tony had absolutely wrecked the other boy. 

Flash must take it the wrong way, because he calls out, “Suck my dick, Parker!”

(The sheer, tone-deaf irony-) 

Tony looks like he's about to get back out of the car to finish things, but Peter puts his hand over Tony's own on the PRNDL. 

“I got this,” Peter says, before turning and responding. “I would, Flash! But I choke on small bones, so! Sorry, man!”

And he sketches a little salute as the car purrs to life and they depart. 

The engine is high-end and quiet, though, and it doesn't cover the unrefined, squawking laughter that bubbles up out of Tony. “Where in the world did you hear that line, kid?”

Peter grins. “My aunt gets catcalled a lot. She doesn't let them get away with it.”

“Good,” Tony approves, “... you gotta stand up for yourself in this world.”

“I have you for that,” Peter replies, too honest. 

Tony pulls into traffic, taking them home. 

“Yeah,” he breathes, smiling. “I guess you do.”


	3. Petra Parker

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Contains always a girl Petra Parker and all that that entails.

Petra Parker believes in pussy power.

No, really, she does.

She and MJ had done the whole bit with the mirrors and the positive self-talk and the pampering. Then she’d licked MJ until they’d both come -- Michelle from the stimulation and Petra from being of service while grinding into her hand through her jeans.

The next time, though, when MJ wants to return the favor? Petra feels a little sick. She  _can’t_.

It only gets worse when she comes back from her first year of college, missing Mr. Stark like a lost limb. She’s spent a year strolling around Cambridge in the sunshine, meeting new people, trying new things, and all she wants is him. (Still.) (Always.)

Because she’s nineteen and clever, she gets what she wants.

He cracks, lets himself be drawn in, sheds the Mr. Stark title like a second skin.

He’ll always be Tony now (Tony, Tony,  _Tony_ ) and they get comfortable, drawing out the delicious tension that raws her nerves. He insists they take it slow and he keeps his attention and his mouth on her nipples as she grinds in his lap, though he looks up at her, dazed with wonder and regret, when Petra gets herself off by riding the ridge of his thigh rather than his cock.

The next time, she requests he talk her through it instead.

Tony grips her hips and plants his forehead between her breasts so he can watch her hand where she plays with herself, just above his lap. He tells her how beautiful she is, how good a job she’s doing (which,  _fuck_ -), how badly he wants to see her come.

Petra is panting so loudly that even she, with her enhanced senses, is having trouble hearing Tony’s low, smoky whisper. She  _does_  hear the wet noise her body makes as she dips her fingers into herself, but her embarrassment over that is drowned out by Tony’s answering groan.

“I can hear you, baby. Holy  _fuck_ , you sound so good, sweetheart, and your  _smell_ -” he breathes into her belly, and Petra squawks, “... I can smell your pretty cunt, baby girl. So wet and new for me, it wants to come so bad, let it, come on, let yourself have it, honey-”

The repetitive, uh-uh-uhm sounds that that snatches from Petra’s throat have no right to be so breathy. She’s suddenly so,  _so_  close that she can’t decide where to put her fingers. She’s achingly empty when she focuses on her clit, but if she rides her fingers she’ll lose the edge and won’t come. It’s frustrating and she wants to scream with it, wants to cry-

It’s normally not a problem, not at home when it takes about an hour of browsing fanfiction for something new, and her limbs can settle, and there’s no one to look sexy for and no balance to keep, safe in her bed… she can use both hands and grunt like a cavewoman if that’s what it takes. But like this, she feels like a new fawn, unsure and unsteady. Her legs are all Bambi, wobbling.

“Please, please,  _sir,_ ” she begs, and Tony stops thrumming his thumbs over her waist to cradle her face, instead, and kisses her soundly.

He says against her lips, “Tell me what you need, Petra. All you gotta do is ask, kid.”

“I need your fingers and, and, your  _voice_. I, I, need to come, Tony, please.”

He smiles against her jaw and it feels indulgent on her skin. “Okay, I got you, Pet,” he murmurs, putting one hand in her short hair, cupping her skull and leaning her back a little so that her spine arches and her mound fits to his other palm in a warm little arc. She wonders where he learned that, then stops wondering as he kisses a smacking, then shivering puff of air against her carotid. Fuck, she loves when he breathes on her; it makes her feel like prey.

He sinks two gorgeously thick,  _man’s_  fingers into her and finishes his thought. “Daddy’s got you, sweetness. Play with your clit.”

Petra is downright livid at her body for gushing a spill of slick the way it does on  _that_  word, and the endearment and the command to follow. It feels too good to be mad, though, and Tony  _growls_  against her collarbone as he saws his fingers into her, settling into a rhythm that works her into frothy mess and fucks right against her g-spot.

(The advantages of having an experienced lover-)

She finally does as she’s bid and pays attention to her clit, shuddering. It’s so much better than she’s used to. Petra feels like she’s building up to something bigger, something more than the little blipping, bubbling pond-ripple orgasms she ekes out on school nights.

She darts down to where his fingers are pumping into her, her slim finger crowding along his bigger ones to gather up some extra slick to take back up and glide around her clit.

He makes this adorable choking noise as she retreats back up and it’s so fucking charming. She straightens her spine to look down at him, at his earnest, dark eyes watching her. It’s amazing to her that this man -- this man who has been a playboy most of his life and fucked models and actresses and actors and other geniuses, all gorgeous people -- could be shocked and pleased by something as simple as the cavalier way she spreads her wetness around. “What is it?”

“It’s just so intimate. Here, on the couch, you in your ratty T-shirt that looks like your nipples are gonna put another couple holes in it. Fucking dripping for me, baby,” he gasps, hyper-honest, and she loves when he curses. “Your pussy sucks my fingers right in, and you’re so hot inside. Love your damp little bush on my knuckles. So real. Not fake. My sweetheart,” he finishes, smiling even and enamored at her. His hand finally comes down off her neck and shoulder to splay across her belly, steadying her as she leans forward into him.

“What did you expect, huh?” she asks, breathless. She keeps leaning until her modest bust is in his face and she can feel the press of his fingers both inside and outside her body, like he’s trying to touch fingertips to fingertips. It’s a different kind of full, and she pants into his hair as his exhales and kisses stamp her sternum.

Petra rubs at her clit furiously and starts vocalizing until he pushes her back a little and moves his hand from her belly. He grabs an asscheek instead, gripping and pulling her onto his fingers, and the stretch it causes stokes the same fire that his mechanic’s calluses have been trying to start along her plush, tender insides.

She whines a little and Tony finally answers her question. “Even I never could have dreamed you up, darling. You’re perfect.”

In a fit of daring, and also to shut that lying mouth up, she pulls her fingers away and puts them on his lips. He immediately tongues at the webbing and groans with delight, which is gratifying, but she jerks her hand back just as he crushes the heel of his pistoning hand up into her clit, hard.

His mouth free, unlocked, he commands, “Come down Daddy’s wrist, princess. Do it now and I'll fuck you next time. Promise.”

She obeys, and comes so hard her back pops.


End file.
